


Storm

by someonestolemyshoes



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: A Choice with No Regrets, Anxiety, F/M, Rain, death mention, levihan - Freeform, thunder storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 18:32:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5550920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonestolemyshoes/pseuds/someonestolemyshoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She feels guilty, almost, for seeing him like this and for a moment she considers walking away, leaving him be, and then the thunder booms beyond his shutters and the wood rattles and Levi fists the bed clothes hard enough to tear the fabric and she’s knocking on the door before she can tell herself not to."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Long time no see lads! This is my levihan secret santa gift for tumblr user jaywarriorjackedwolf, set a little ways after the events of the second A Choice With No Regrets OVA.

Hange doesn’t know quite what to do, the first time she finds him.

It’s black out and the sky beyond the window is all looming, rolling clouds and static and rain pelting the glass in sheets blown in sporadic waves. It’s unpleasant, but there’s something about the low hum of energy that sinks down to her bones and sets her skin on fire. She shivers and grins, sets her candle on the sill and presses her nose to the glass.

The storm twists thick and heavy overhead. Hange watches lightning illuminate the sky and with it comes a low, booming rumble, so close it has the panes rattling in their frames and when the lightning dies down the darkness presses in thick and heavy, bayed only by each sweep and arch of the flame lighting her candle. The sky creeps in, seeps through the glass and billows out into the corridor and Hange tugs her jacket tighter into her chest, dips her fingers in and out of the flame to let the darkness weave in just a little closer.

The second flash brings another growl, deep and menacing, but with it comes another noise. Whatever it is, it doesn’t belong with the storm. It doesn’t wail like the wind and it doesn’t tick like the rain and it isn’t drowning, like thunder; it’s quiet, barely audible above the discord, but as the static builds, revs ready for another bolt to streak the skies she hears it again.

It’s dull, soft and near silent beneath the roar; a wet, choked kind of groan, and Hange tip-toes her way down the hall towards it.

Crying isn’t all that uncommon – Hange has caught enough sobs to last her too many lifetimes, creeping out from darkened corridors, behind closed doors in the dead of night, and years of service have taught her to ignore the noises well enough – it’s just…crying from _Levi’s_ room is unheard of.  

His door is ajar, tilted just enough for her to peer through and Hange thinks this is odd, too, because most nights Levi makes a loud and boisterous point of closing and locking it behind him to deter visitors.

Now that she can see him she knows that he isn’t quite crying – there are no tears on his cheeks, no sobs or screams, just heaving breaths and choked gasps and when his gaze darts to the window Hange sees something like panic reflected by the lightning.

Levi is perched on the edge of his mattress, bed clothes rumpled beneath him with his fingers fisted tight into the blankets. There’s something about the sink and fall of his shoulders that makes Hange’s gut clench; he’s breathing quick, shallow pants, mouth wide open, tongue peeking to wet his lips and Hange can hear the sharp, rasping shudder of each inhale. The storm claps low in the sky and another tight, messy groan creeps out of his throat. His leg is bouncing, erratic, and he pulls the bedsheets closer against his thighs.

She feels guilty, almost, for seeing him like this and for a moment she considers walking away, leaving him be, and then the thunder booms beyond his shutters and the wood rattles and Levi fists the bed clothes hard enough to tear the fabric and she’s knocking on the door before she can tell herself not to.

If he’s surprised to see her there, Levi doesn’t show it. He doesn’t show much of anything, just sinks his fingers deeper into his blankets and keeps his head hung low. He’s breathing heavy, shoulders sinking too deep into his frame and rattling their way back out again and a second crack echoes from the walls and something choked and raw rips from his throat.

It isn’t quite a whimper but it isn’t quite a shout, either; whatever it is it’s borne of frustration. Levi hisses air between his teeth and loosens his death grip on the bedding with one hand, wiping his face with the back of his wrist.

“You alright?” Hange asks, because she isn’t sure what else she can do, and Levi’s head snaps up so quickly it makes her jump.

“Leave,” he says, “get out, shitty-glasses.”

Hange takes one long, deliberate breath, then steps further into the room, letting the door swing shut behind her. She drops down onto Levi’s mattress beside him, sets the candle on the table and leans back on her hands.

“Are you _deaf?”_ Levi says, and when he twists to look at her she can see the angry red rims of his eyes and the purpling shadows beneath them, crescent bruises marking countless sleepless nights. Hange swings one leg over the other and forces a grin.

“Never was one for following rules,” she says, sits forward and digs an elbow into Levi’s bicep. “And you’re in no place to judge.”

Levi bristles at that, tugs his arm away from hers and folds it across his chest. He snarls, lips tugged taught and peeled back from his teeth and there’s a comment on the tip of his tongue, heavy and scathing but it never makes it out because the sky beyond the window lights up, illuminates a halo around the shutters and blazes the room and with it comes another boom, and Levi feels the floor shake and the wood creaks and he pulls the collar of his shirt up to his teeth and bites down, grits against the noise threatening to peel from his throat.

“I’m fine,” he says before Hange can comment, and she raises a hand in placation.  

“Wasn’t going to say anything.”

She watches him try to calm down, watches his lips shake around whispered numbers as he measures every shuddered breath but the storm is raging and each fresh wave of noise fuels whatever it is that’s gripping him.

“Do you want tea?”

Levi lifts a tight fist and thumps it against the mattress, body shaking, and swings his head.

“ _No_ ,” he says, “I don’t want _tea_. I want you to _leave_.” He coughs in a breath, shakes his head again like he’s trying to dislodge his demons and Hange twists her feet together against the floor. She doesn’t want to leave, but she doesn’t want to stay, either, if Levi doesn’t want her there; they’ve been talking for less than a month and Hange is still testing each precarious boundary, but as it stands – the way his fingers twitch and his shoulders shake – she doesn’t think now is the time to experiment.

“Okay,” she says, pushes to her feet and collects her candle. “Okay, but I’ll be awake for a while, if you change your mind.”

Levi clenches his jaw and stares ahead, resolute, and Hange slips out without another word.

It’s not that she doesn’t notice the stray tea cup the next morning, washed and draining by the sink, it’s just - Hange doesn’t feel the need to mention it even as Levi catches her gaze across the mess hall with a scowl deep enough to mask the long, tired lines streaking the corners of his eyes.

* * *

It’s three weeks later when the second storm hits and this time, she’s a little more prepared.

Hange watches the clouds roll in from her bedroom window; the sky beneath them is dull and grey and the clouds bubble over it, froth and foam out across the huge expanse until everything below is mottled black and grey. The air hangs heavy, tense and charged and it raises goosebumps on Hange’s skin, lifts her hair on end.

Levi’s door is closed when she gets there and instead of knocking, she presses her back to the wall and sinks her way to the floor, tucks her knees beneath her chin and rests the candle by her feet. The flame dances in the dark, ebbs and weaves and chases the shadows back into the corners, and Hange listens.

The lightning comes first, blinks beyond the window, and then the thunder, and then a _thump_ and a groan from behind Levi’s closed door. The process repeats, over and over, and Hange isn’t sure how much longer she can listen without interfering because he’s sounding more desperate with each crack and boom, and then the rain begins and Levi chokes and Hange scoops up her candle, dashes down the corridor as fast as her legs will carry her.

She stops when she reaches the kitchen. There’s a draft blowing in, bitterly cold air nipping at her ankles and the storm is far louder in here. It pounds at the door and presses into the windows, clatters the glass so hard Hange thinks it might shatter and the wind that peels under the door shakes the pots where they hang on the wall.

It doesn’t take her long to find everything; Levi’s tea is where it always is, in a little tin box on the lowest shelf of the cupboard, and Hange fishes it out along with a cup and saucer. She sets them to one side, fills the pot with water ready to boil and leaves everything out on the counter top with a note scribbled on the back of a tissue.

_‘My door is open – Hange.’_

**

It’s almost an hour later, the storm fading beyond her window, when there’s a knock at the door and Levi pushes it open without invite. His hair is damp and his cheeks are a little red and Hange smiles wide, pushes her glasses up to her forehead and rubs at her eyes.

“You should have rinsed the cup out, idiot,” he says, and Hange eyes the teacup pinched between his fingers. “It’s all dusty. Disgusting.”

The look he gives her room is an uncertain one, nose wrinkled as he steps over clothes and books and piles of unidentifiable debris, and Hange watches him pick his way over with her lip nipped between her teeth.

“You can sit,” Hange says, when Levi stands by the bed with his eyes glued to the covers for just a little too long.

“Is it safe?”

Hange barks out a laugh and straightens the bed clothes, stray crumbs and a few balled up sheets of paper dropping to the floor. Levi parks a thigh on the edge and sets his teacup atop a pile of books stacked on the bedside table.

“How do you live in this,” he says, straightens the books against the table edge, “it’s filthy.” Hange shrugs a shoulder.

“Some of us don’t mind a little clutter,” she says. Levi scowls over his shoulder.

“This isn’t clutter,” he says, “it’s _filth_.”

Hange waves him off with a murmured, “Semantics,” and Levi takes one long, scornful mouthful of his tea.

The weather picks up with an awful rattle of the windows and Levi’s shoulders tense. He eyes the glass where it shakes in the frame, twitches the fingers of one hand against Hange’s bedding and he stays that way, rigid, until the wind dies down again.

“I used to be scared of storms,” Hange says. It’s a lie, but she thinks it might help all the same.

“I’m not scared,” Levi retorts, and Hange wants to poke fun but his tone doesn’t sound defensive, just… _resigned_. “I’m not scared,” he says again.

“Okay.”

They fall into silence and it’s somewhat comfortable, if a little strained, but Levi’s gaze keeps flicking back to the window.

“I don’t like them,” he says after a time, circles the rim of his cup with one finger. “They-it was-it’s just-.” He huffs out one harsh, frustrated breath, and Hange holds up a hand to slence him. 

“Stop,” she says, and when Levi casts a sharp glance over his shoulder she tilts her lips in a smile, “before your hurt yourself.”

Levi scowls, shifts, settles back against Hange’s spare pillows and crooks his arm behind his head. It’s a mockery of relaxed, stretched and languid yet taught in the same breath, muscles tight and tensed and Hange hates it. She hates it because Levi is inexpressive – impassive to a fault, at times –, displays a common distaste and very little else and there’s something unnerving about this Levi. This flighty, rigid Levi with his forced breaths and tight shoulders is so very different from the one she’s become accustomed to.  

“The night Isabelle and Farlan…” he trails away, clears his throat and swallows hard and Hange shakes her head.  

“I know,” she says. “You don’t need to tell me, I was there.”

It shouldn’t be surprising and Hange wonders why she hadn’t thought of it sooner, but the fact of the matter is she’s always thought of Levi as something like untouchable; unfazeable. It shouldn’t be surprising because she _saw_ him, she saw the hurt and the rage in the shake of his fingers and the tears on his cheeks and the words spit from his tongue and yet she never thought for a single moment that the effect might be lasting.

“Sorry,” she says, and Levi rolls his head to the side to look at her. She isn’t quite sure what it is she’s apologising for.

“I just don’t like them,” he says again, and there’s a finality to his tone; he’s ending this conversation on his terms, and Hange is happy to let him. “You need to clean.”

“If you’re just going to criticise me you can take your ass right back to your own room, clean-freak.”

“It’s disgusting,” he continues, waves a hand towards the pile of – Hange doesn’t even know – in the far corner. Thunder cracks.

“I think it’s _moving_.”

“It’s not moving,” Hange says, kicks at Levi’s ankles where they’re crossed one over the other. “You’re seeing things.”

“Can you even see that far without those glasses, four-eyes?”

“I’m not _blind_ ,” she says, folds her arms over her chest, “I can see that far just fine.”  

Levi eyes her, ticks his tongue against his teeth and sinks a little further into the pillows.

It’s hours before he goes and Hange is dozing, eyes drooping with the weight of her fatigue, so sleepy that she barely registers his leaving. The mattress shifts, bed clothes rustle, and the blanket tucks up right under her chin, and Levi’s fingers brush the skin of her forehead as he peels her glasses off of her face and folds them onto the night stand.

It’s not that she doesn’t notice the pile of clean laundry, and maybe her papers sit a little straighter on the desk than they did when she fell asleep and there are far less dishes stacked around the room, it’s just – Hange doesn’t feel the need to mention it, even as Levi slams the door open with a second pile of clothing and a scowl (almost) deep enough to hide the gratitude simmering in his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been so long since I've written Levihan and I am definitely incredibly out of practice, but here you go!! I have missed writing them a lot, gotta get back into the swing of things! Any comments, kudos, and bookmarks are much appreciated! Thank u and god bless (and feel free to follow me on tumblr @ someone-stole-my-shoes for more levihan tr ash)


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